I was raised on a few fundamental beliefs. Some have evolved
overtime, as people and circumstances change and grow so we as a family or I as
an individual see that the world is a vastly bigger place than my understanding
of it. I could go into various political or theological points that take on different
meanings as I get older and have new life experiences. But that is not what
this blog is about. This blog is about one fundamental building block of my
entire life that has never changed…Saturday mornings are for chores. This was a
rule that I hated as a kid, despised as a teenager and fully resented as an
adult living in my parents’ house. But, their house, their rules. Now I have my
own house and my own kids and my own freedom to do what I want and make my own
Saturday morning routine!
So you can imagine the shock and horror I felt when I took a
step back this morning and realized that somehow, somewhere at some point along
the way I made the rule that Saturday mornings are for chores in my house with
my kids. I am not entirely sure when it happened I don’t remember making the conscious
decision. However, there must have been some pivotal point on my timeline in
which I said to my family “FAMILY, henceforth, and evermore, Saturday mornings
are for doing house work!” Damn, me.
The particular Saturday of which I will speak Husband was
not home, as tends to happen from time to time being a pastor he has the occasional
wedding, or meeting, or he is traveling for Jesus. I had the 5 year old
cleaning the room that he had supposedly been cleaning all week after school. The
9 year old was given dusting and floor duty on the main floor of the house.
While the 3 year old was supposed to be “helping” and by helping I mean “Please
for the love of all that is holy do not make things any worse”. I took the
bathrooms because I wanted them done right and not ½ done or done by using all of the new bottle of Scrubbing Bubbles on just the sink, or flooding into the
kitchen.
So, things had begun. I had been giving Minion number 2
steps for his room. You know, pick up all of the blocks, now the stuffed
animals, now the balls, and so forth. But this had become too difficult for
him, I believe his words were “Mommy, this is just very overwhelming, I just
don’t know if I can keep going like this” (So. Much. Drama.) After this
statement and some raised voices I changed tactics, he was now to pick things
up by color, he was on red. Minion’s number 1 & 2 were in the living room. Their
job quite clear, pick up toys, put them away, dust, vacuum, next room. In the
span of 1 hour I had cleaned 2 bathrooms and was emptying the dishwasher when I
realized the music streaming from Pandora onto our t.v. had gradually become
louder and I was not hearing much noise from above where room cleaning was supposed
to be taking place. I stopped what I was doing, squared my shoulders, took a
deep breath and entered the war zone. I was practically knocked over by the blaring
“All about that Bass”. When I walked
into the living room it was to find #1 playing air guitar, dancing and jumping
wildly on the couch with paints only half on, one leg on, one leg off (he had
been fully dressed when last I saw him). #3 was wearing a shirt only, no pants,
no pull up, and one arm was out of it’s sleeve entirely. He was running in
circle shaking his naked butt scream singing “BOOTY DANCE! HINEY DANCE! SHAKE
YOU TOOSHY!” I turned and walked out, looked up the stairwell and found #2 eyes
closed dancing with no inhibitions at the top of the stairs.
As a result of this, there was some yelling. A very irritated
5 year old saying “What is this you mean by clean all of the RED? I don’t get
it.” A nine year old now with both legs in pants grumbling under his breath
about injustice while still shaking his nonexistent hips to the now turned way
down music. And a 3 year old who had disappeared in his room for a time and
returned “dressed” saying “Mommy, you sad, I fix. I dressed. Now you HAPPY!”
everything he was wearing was on backwards with the exception of his shoes
which belong to his brother.
It was a sweet moment
and I appreciated the sentiment. Kids do have a way of making parents stop and
take a breath. That little moment helped me to step out of myself for a beat and
regain appreciation for my 3 minions and how much they add to my life. He
forced me to look outside of my frustration and see the hilarity of it all from
the irony of my forcing chores upon our Saturday morning to the circus that is
our lives.
Yes, that moment was magical, but, it has been a week and
the bedroom still isn’t clean, the furniture needs dusting, and don’t get me
started on the toilets. So we will continue the circle again this Saturday. And
I can only hope, as I do with so many things in life, that this is embedded in
my kid’s brains and as adults they endure Saturday morning chores just as I
have. I wish this because I love them, and I also, it’s only fair.
